Padam Padam
by NerdyBookLover
Summary: It was all fun and games until Bond found the magazine Moneypenny had left on Q's desk with a post-it note attached to a page titled "How To Get Your Man." **00Q, rated only for language


Q had never allowed himself to fall in love with James Bond, just as he hadn't allowed himself to fall in love with his best friend from primary school or his mechanical engineering professor at uni. That sort of thing was a distraction and Q would not have it. He was an intellectual; practical, and a relationship with 007 was anything but. The man almost died on a near daily basis and was threatening to shorten Q's lifespan as it was with a strictly professional relationship.

His resolve, however, did not stop Q from entertaining the fantasy.

Of course he outright denied it when Eve asked, then also when Tanner did, and when (to his surprise) even M did. It would have annoyed him had they not all seemed so genuinely concerned for him, what with 007's track record and Q's supposed fragility. But he assured them that he had no intention of ever pursuing anything more than friendship with Bond. Despite that, Miss Moneypenny felt inclined to "help him out", as she put it. It started out simple enough, her hinting that Bond might be in need of some company after he returned from his latest mission or, on one occasion, a comment about how Bond's returning all of his equipment (while mostly broken) after a mission in Istanbul was surely a declaration of undying love.

Yes, it was all fun and games until Bond found the magazine Moneypenny had left on Q's desk with a post-it note attached to a page titled "How To Get Your Man."

"Something I should know, Q?" Bond asked, a frown etched deep into his face. For a moment, Q floundered, panicking, before remember who he was and that the Quartermaster of MI6 did _not_ panic, no matter what the circumstance.

"Oh, that," he said as blandly as he could. "Yes, Eve left it in here earlier. I'll have to bring it back to her."

"It's all marked up." Shit.

"And?"

"Don't play coy, Q. It's _your_ handwriting in _your_ favorite fountain pen. So?"

Shit fuck. "So, what? Use your words, 007."

"So, who is 'your man'?" Bond asked, using air-quotes in a way Q was sure was supposed to come off as nonchalant, but was far too aggressive.

"No one. There is no man. I put work above all else. And as such, I must ask you to leave."

When he received no response, Q turned from the keys he had aimlessly been tapping at on his laptop as a distraction to find 007 had actually listened to him for once.

A few days later had Q seeing 007 off on another mission, this time to stop an ambitious new drug cartel in Mexico. After Bond was debriefed, he walked into Q branch to receive his equipment. He hadn't been back since The Great Magazine Debacle of 2012 (also known to Q as The Day He Relinquished His Friendship With Miss Moneypenny, which she of course promptly ignored and then proceeded to tell him to stop giving dramatic names to unimportant events in order to make his life seem more fun; he wasn't fooling anybody). Q had been worried he'd done something wrong, but couldn't figure out for the life of him what it was. Instead of dwelling on it, he threw himself into a pet-project of his, something he knew would earn Bond's forgiveness for whatever it was he hadn't realized he'd done.

The exploding pen, as it turned out, was enough to make 007 grin like a child on Christmas morning.

Bond came back without the Walther PPK, or the pen, or the radio, or any of the numerous tracking devices he had left with, not even the two that'd been embedded under his skin, but Q barely noticed because now Bond was bleeding all over his doorstep at three in the morning asking for a glass of anything alcoholic and a first-aid kit.

It took about 20 minutes, but eventually Q managed to help Bond patch himself back up again and was settling the man into his guest bedroom for the night. The man was out as soon as his head hit the pillow and Q didn't even try to stop himself from kissing his forehead before going to his own bedroom to finish the line of code he'd been working on before the double oh interrupted.

When Q woke the next morning, Bond was still asleep, so he put together some breakfast with what was left of the contents of his refrigerator before waking the agent to change his bandages. Bond was silent through all of it and accepted his omelette with a nod of thanks, the two of them sitting awkwardly on the guest bed. Q was about to start up a conversation, but Bond beat him to it.

"Do all your guests get breakfast in bed?"

Q stared for a moment, feeling a slight undertone of _something_ in Bond's voice, but not quite placing it. "I don't usually have guests." He replied honestly, knowing 007 of all people would understand his need for privacy and isolation. He received a thoughtful nod in return.

"So, you meant it before? There isn't anyone...?" He trailed off, looking pointedly at the wall over Q's shoulder, refusing eye-contact. He clearly meant to have the conversation end after Q responded, but now Q was curious as to why he had even bothered asking in the first place.

"Why do you ask? You've never shown this much interest in my personal affairs before. And don't say 'just because' or I will put in a request with M to have Tanner follow you around and make you do your paperwork until I deem you fit to return to the field."

Bond was fighting back a smile. "How heartless of you, Quartermaster." Then he sighed. "Would you be terribly angry with me if I were to tell you that the thought of anyone touching you makes me feel a tad jealous?"

Q was silent so long that Bond started to fidget, not used to the unwelcome feel of rejection he was slowly starting to suspect. He was in the midst of an escape plan when Q finally answered.

"Really?" Q tried to sound casual, but it came off more as cautious wonderment. Bond met his eyes and he must have seen something there because the next thing Q knew, his back was meeting the mattress and Bond was barely a centimeter away from kissing him.

"Yes, really. Why do you think I spend most of my time in Q branch these days? It's not for the coffee, that's for sure."

"Coffee's shit wherever you go, that's why I drink tea." Q said automatically, used to this kind of banter. What he wasn't used to was Bond's lips being used to silence him. It was light and chaste and had Q internally begging for more, but 007 drew back quickly, looking at him curiously.

"Earlier, before the mission, you said you put work above everything else."

Q laughed, surprised. "You are work, idiot." And he pulled Bond's mouth back down to meet his.

Later that night, Q only realized that he had answered Bond's phone when he heard Eve's smug tone as she asked if they were busy. He sighed and put his free hand over his eyes, ignoring Bond's tired groan at being woken.

"What do you want, Eve? It's late."

After she said her piece, Q hung up and curled back into Bond's side, relaxing as Bond slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.

"What did Eve say?" The double oh asked quietly, voice muddled with fatigue.

Q snorted before responding. "'About bloody damn time.'"

**A/N: Title comes from Édith Piaf's song of the same name.

I haven't really written fanfiction in a while, so sorry if it sucks. And it's the first for a James Bond movie, so, yeah. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.

Disclaimer: If only...


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